


The secrets of enemy weaponry

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Mairon is naughty, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, rare top Melkor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Interrupted war council, bored Dark Lord, arrogant lieutenant. Punishment cannot wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The secrets of enemy weaponry

**Author's Note:**

> This might seem darker than it really is.

Melkor is bored.

'The influence of Himring spreads among the peoples of Beleriand, my Lord,' reports Mairon, the lieutenant, the strategist, the perfectionist. To him are left the fates of this war, on his shoulders is placed the responsibility; and this burden he carries with not a single word of protest, not a hint of exhaustion from the vexing task. Even when he surely notices how his Master pays little attention to the detailed reports, how much more interested he is in the light of the stolen jewels of Feanaro reflected in the perfectly cut gemstone rings which adorn the fingers of the dark Vala's right hand; still patiently does Mairon continue debriefing the gathered generals on the most current state of affairs with the Noldor.

And Melkor is very, very bored.

In truth he knows that such meetings of the leaders of his army are necessary. He understands the importance of planning for all possible outcomes, of discussing eventualities and exchanging ideas for improvement. Yet to him, after all the time that has passed, such things have become trivial. He has seen it all: battles and sieges, victories followed by losses mark the history of Arda to the likeness of blood splatters on the cold stone floor of the torture chamber. Some have dried and darkened with the passage of time, others have only just been spilled - vibrant red stains left on the stone to rot. Such is the nature of war: whimsical and messy and altogether meaningless, and yet so relevant to some.

It matters little, after all, if his forces defeat or end up defeated on the battlefield. The world has learned of his might. Long afterwards will his influence remain on Arda, flowing through its veins like poison, corrupting all that lives into slow decay. All that he touches or has touched carries in it a dark disease, a desire of sorts to go against everything which flourishes in light. They call him the Enemy, so an Enemy he will be. If that is the role given to him in the Great Music against which he tried in vain to rebel... ah, so be it.

Mairon speaks on and on, repeating all the same nonsense time and again so that even the Orc generals have trouble feigning interest in the matters at hand and Gothmog is openly yawning where he stands near the entrance. But the lieutenant pays no mind to anyone save for Melkor, which is admirable and commendable; yet for all his efforts, he seems not to see how incredibly boring Melkor finds this whole war council.

'You spoke earlier of a weapon which they are devising,' the dark Vala says inquiringly when Mairon has no more to say about the hardly important influence of Himring which has most likely not, in fact, grown overnight since the last meeting.

'Yes, my lord. I am yet unsure what it is,' Mairon replies quickly, as though emboldened by the attention from the dark Vala, 'but I will have it figured out soon. My spies-'

Melkor is not really interested in hearing any more. He grabs the lieutenant's sleeve and pulls him into a forced embrace. He takes in the soft gasp, the surprised and nigh-hurt look on Mairon's face, but instead of feeling guilty, he is satisfied. Well, it serves him right. If the Maia thinks he is allowed to talk for hours on end about this insignificant nonsense and bore him halfway into oblivion for no reason whatsoever, Melkor is going to have to teach him otherwise.

'This meeting is adjourned,' says Melkor in an authoritarian tone of voice which makes Mairon stiffen in dismay, but at least the Maia stops struggling for the briefest moment. The Orc generals look to one another awkwardly as though for confirmation, but none of them dares say a word in protest. They follow the lead of Gothmog who leaves the audience hall immediately upon hearing Melkor's announcement. Within minutes, the dark Vala and his lieutenant remain the only occupants of the throne chamber.

Mairon in his arms is angry. His anger is – hot, wild, vivid. Like the molten fire his soul is made of. Like the firestorm that drew Melkor to him in the first place, so long ago.

'Do you have any idea how much hard work it takes to gain their respect? Do you even imagine what it feels like to have to outperform everyone in order to be listened to, only to have your effort spat upon by somebody who has never had to worry about being worshipped?' Asks the lieutenant bitterly. He is not fighting Melkor's embrace, likely rather content to have his Master's attention despite the spectacle it caused in front of their underlings. Of course, in terms of both physical and spiritual strength, Melkor is far superior over his feisty lieutenant and could easily overpower him should the need arise. Mairon is trapped and has no way to free himself... unless he uses some cunning trick or enchantment he may have devised for the war effort. But he is a smart Maia. He would not risk it. Not tonight.

'Let go of me,' demands Mairon in a low voice after the chamber falls completely quiet around them and the sound of footsteps down the hall dies down. His tone promises danger like a distant crack of thunder rumbling from afar.

Melkor laughs in dark amusement. The laughter sounds unpleasant even in his own ears, as though corrupted by some malice which he cannot remember ever feeling. It comes out of his mouth completely wrong. It makes Mairon shiver. Good.

'Or what?' He asks, mocking his lieutenant openly. 'Will you haul objects at me? Will you call to your werewolves for aid? We both know you do not want to fight me, so do not make this more painful to yourself. Stop struggling and give me everything-'

'Melkor,' Mairon protests. His hair is tousled and he glares at the strands falling freely on his face even as he follows the suggestion and stops fighting the dark Vala's grip. He looks debauched. It is a good look on him.

With a sigh, Mairon says, 'The war council-'

'Was boring, so I put a halt to it,' Melkor comments drily. He likes the way his feisty lieutenant is trembling in his grip.

Mairon glares at him. 'Let go of me so I can do something productive,' he demands. He shakes his head as though to clear it. One of the gold beads from his hair comes loose and falls to the floor with a soft clang. Melkor follows it with his eyes.

'Productive endeavours are tiresome,' he decides firmly.

'Would it still all tire you so were Feanaro among the living?' Asks Mairon in a tone full of spite. 'Or were I a fair Elf-maiden, would you listen to me sing?'

A sick jealousy puts a new and ugly kind of fire in his golden eyes and Melkor cannot look at him any longer. It is a familiar pattern between them, a cycle of accusations and insults thrown at one another; and no matter how many times the scene plays out, the result is unchanging.

'You disgust me,' the dark Vala lies in a low whisper, just enough to be heard. He lets go of Mairon's form and waits for the lieutenant to move away from him.

'I dare you to lie to me one more time. I dare you,' Mairon says dangerously. His head is hung and his hands clenched into fists. His voice is low and deep, and in his anger he sounds very much like he does on the battlefield. A nightmare dressed in an image of a daydream. What remains beneath is the taint of Melkor's corruption.

Briefly, Melkor wonders if his lieutenant ever shuts up and lets go. Instead of voicing the thought, he says with a condescending smirk that is sure to infuriate him, 'You mean nothing to me.'

He is prepared for the punch long before it comes, but he does not dodge. Pain explodes under his skin where the inside of his cheek splits against the teeth. He tastes the revolting bitterness of his own blood on his tongue and spits it out. He does not retaliate immediately; he is still marvelling at the sensation pulsating from the injury when the next blow comes.

But Mairon's physical strength is inferior to Melkor's; and quickly the dark Vala gains the advantage. He pins the disgruntled lieutenant to the wall by his arms, ignoring how Mairon is thrashing wildly against him and cursing him loudly to the Void and back. The Maia's golden eyes are wide and his breathing quickened, and Melkor already knows he has emerged victorious from this nonsensical and pointless scuttle; but still his soul thrums and his body burns with need for – something.

'Let go,' Mairon demands breathlessly.

'Do you ever shut up,' Melkor asks hoarsely, tightening his grip on Mairon's arms. He does not mean it as a threat, but it is doubtlessly taken as such.

'Do you ever listen? You giant oaf,' Mairon retaliates and once more fights to free himself from the strong hold restraining him. He attempts to kick Melkor to get him to retreat, but Melkor just laughs darkly and presses him harder against the wall to painfully crush the Maia's leaner body with his own.

He is almost surprised when he feels something poking his hip. He looks down at Mairon inquiringly, but the lieutenant quickly averts his gaze as though embarrassed; realization dawns upon Melkor at his servant's shame and he feels a foul kind of satisfaction.

'So this is what had you so insufferable,' he mocks before he purposefully grinds his hips between Mairon's legs. The action draws a shuddering moan from Mairon's mouth and Melkor dips his head to capture Mairon's lips and swallow the sound, to steal it from him as though a guarded treasure, to lick away at the inside of Mairon's mouth in order to erase the last remnants of the sweet noise. Rather than a kiss, this is an act of punishment, harsh and demanding and violent like a raging thunderstorm, and Melkor completely dominates his lieutenant with his mouth and tongue and teeth, allowing him no chance to respond or to escape.

But Mairon does not fight him at all, nor does he struggle for his freedom any longer, suddenly pliant in Melkor's crushing embrace. Noting this, the dark Vala pins his arms above his head with one hand and uses the other to tear apart the front of Mairon's robes without pausing from ravaging his mouth, devouring him as though starved for his taste. Mairon makes a weak indignant noise of protest at the treatment of his robes, but Melkor ignores it and instead tugs at the unnecessarily complicated sash which easily comes apart under his ministrations. He releases Mairon's mouth and quickly picks up the falling sash. Roughly, he turns the Maia around and moves his arms to tie them on his back. Mairon groans deep in his throat when his face is pressed painfully against the stone wall, but Melkor pays him no mind. Satisfied with the tight knot he has made to restrain Mairon's arms, the dark Vala then yanks him by the hair, forcing his lieutenant to follow as he walks. He reaches the throne in the centre of the chamber and unceremoniously sits down. He pushes Mairon to his knees, ignores the lieutenant's painful whimper when he hits the floor too hard. His fist is still gripping Mairon's silky red hair and he uses the grip to pull the Maia up so that he has to lean uncomfortably against the seat with the edge of it digging painfully into his hips.

'You are so shameless,' the dark Vala growls, 'and so infuriating,' he adds and captures Mairon's lips again, assaults the upper lip with his teeth, licks it, bites down once more and then gives the lower lip the same treatment. Then he leans back and admires the sight of Mairon's face as the Maia is caught between pain and pleasure; his dark, swollen lips glisten with saliva and he licks them as Melkor watches him.

'I am going to punish you,' Melkor promises darkly before he allows Mairon to rest on his knees again. He uses his free hand to start to unlace his own breeches, but he thinks better of it. He pulls on Mairon's hair and indicates to his crotch.

'You do this. You wanted to do something productive? Then use your filthy mouth for something, hah, productive,' he commands in clear mockery.

Mairon licks his lips again, as though nervous as he slowly dips his head over Melkor's thighs. Frustrated and unwilling to wait for him to get to work, Melkor pushes him down so that Mairon's lips kiss the lacing on the breeches. Mairon moans breathlessly before, prompted by the fist tightening painfully in his hair, he catches one end of the lacing between his teeth. He pulls on it impatiently and Melkor watches him as the Maia ineffectually tries to open the breeches with just his tongue and teeth.

'Too slow,' the dark Vala comments finally and does it himself. He does not let Mairon go without punishment for not completing the task, however; as soon as his already erect length is freed from the confines of clothing, Melkor forces Mairon to swallow it down to the hilt and does not allow him to draw back even as the lieutenant chokes and attempts to struggle.

Melkor can see tears flow down the dark cheeks, glistening on the freckled skin as though liquid crystal. The sight makes him want to make Mairon cry for him, but that can wait. Instead, he begins to massage the lieutenant's scalp as if soothingly; the sensation causes Mairon to shiver as he finally adjusts to the thick length hitting the back of his throat. He sucks experimentally on his mouthful, slides his tongue over the underside, hollows out his cheeks and looks up at Melkor with bright eyes still glimmering with unshed tears.

The dark Vala groans in approval of both the view and the sensation of being so pleasured, and he forces Mairon to bob his head in a fast pace that he sets; and Mairon gets to the task with unexpected enthusiasm, moaning wantonly around Melkor's length, making those small muffled sounds which should be forbidden for they are entirely too sinful-

Suddenly irritated, Melkor yanks him up by the hair and leans in to kiss him violently, to shut him up, to drown out those sensual noises which cause him to act as though a madman; he then reaches down and rips the lacing of Mairon's breeches, and he pulls them down along with the undergarments. The action takes longer than he would like since he can use only one hand for the other is still entangled in Mairon's hair. Once finished, he forces Mairon up to his feet as he stands up as well. He breaks the brutal kiss and pushes Mairon to kneel on the throne, slams his head face-first against the backrest as though aiming to crush his skull. He lets go of the handful of fiery hair which spill all over Mairon's toned back and instead, he uses his hands to lift the back of the lieutenant's robes and roll the fabric up and out of the way. With this done, he begins to knead Mairon's shapely buttocks, then spreads them as he slides his erection against the Maia's backside. Again does Mairon moan, a sensual, beautiful sound which drives Melkor insane with anger and lust or a poisonous mix of both; and Mairon pushes back when Melkor's length is pressed into his back and slid lower between his cheeks, so tempting, so wanton, wordlessly begging to be filled and ravished.

'Shut up,' groans Melkor and slaps one firm cheek harshly. Mairon's whole body stiffens at first before he arches into the touch, and still he does not remain silent so Melkor smacks him again, and once more, then pauses before landing yet another slap, all equally forceful, all to the same spot. He can see Mairon begin to tremble and he whispers in his ear,

'I will do it six more times. Afterwards, I will punish you for every sound you have made so far,' and he licks the lieutenant's pierced earlobe. He catches the small golden hoop of the earring between his teeth and tugs at it, not enough to rip it out, but more than enough to cause pain that makes Mairon hiss.

Melkor stands back and delivers a resounding smack to Mairon's other buttock, then one more. The effect this has on the Maia is clear: he is panting between soft moans and his body shakes in helpless desire. His pretty cock is glistening at the tip, already leaking from the rough treatment. Such a wanton creature, so shamelessly filthy!... Melkor wonders if his proud lieutenant of Angband could come just from this, from the relentless slaps to his backside which cause him to abandon reason so completely; how easy it would be to bend Mairon over his lap and punish him like this when the throne chamber is not deserted! Yet now is not the time for fantasies; the seventh and eighth smack only elicit small gasps from Mairon who is biting his lips to keep the sounds in, but the next two result in a ragged moan and barely comprehensible cursing; the Maia groans when Melkor harshly massages his abused buttocks, but his hips etch into the touch of Melkor's large hands. Each noise he makes serves to arouse the dark Vala's ire and lust in equal measures. He kneads the shapely globes of Mairon's backside, delivers one more smack across them, no less sharp than those before.

Then he lifts his gloved left hand and spits onto it. He pushes the slicked hand between Mairon's firm buttocks, spreads saliva over the crack and the tight opening. Without warning, he breaches the Maia with his thick, gloved finger, pushes it firmly inside the hot tightness and smirks when Mairon gasps; then the only sounds the lieutenant makes are ragged breaths that accompany each thrust of Melkor's finger inside him. Too soon, the dark Vala adds another finger, giving Mairon little time to adjust to being filled, and he is pleased by the sensation of Mairon's muscles constricting around him, of Mairon's body fighting the intrusion, helpless and desperate.

'I am adding one more,' he announces in a low, threatening voice and bites down on the Maia's shoulder almost hard enough to break skin.

Mairon looks back at him, a panicked expression on his face. 'No, no, not yet-' he begs, but Melkor once more presses his face violently into the backrest of the throne and pushes another finger inside of his hot tight body. The painful whimper Mairon makes sounds more erotic than any of his earlier moans and Melkor wants him, needs him, soon; he thrusts his fingers in and out a few times, stretching him, preparing him only superficially; then he removes them completely. By this time, Mairon is sobbing, his entire form is shaking and those pretty tears glimmer on his face; the glow of his golden eyes is muted as they widen when he seems to realize what Melkor is going to do.

'No- please, not yet,' he cries, attempts to shy away. The dark Vala ignores his pleas and forces his legs to spread as far as possible on the throne. He positions himself and with one forceful thrust he buries himself inside of Mairon's quivering body, ripping out a strangled cry from his throat. The tightness around his length feels exquisite and nigh-unbearable at once, and he waits briefly before moving his hips. He sets a fast pace from the start, and with each thrust he pushes in deeper; with his fingers, he plays with Mairon's sensitive nipples, pinches and twists them until the Maia's sobs of pain shift into pain-laced pleasure. Slamming into the tight body, Melkor groans when he feels the fast approaching orgasm and he wraps his dominant hand around Mairon's slender neck. He squeezes enough to choke him, and as Mairon gasps ineffectually and tries to struggle to no avail, Melkor comes hard deep inside of him, feeling the hot body of the fiery Maia constrict around him as he spills his seed.

He thrusts a few more times before he retreats, spent, and gathers his lieutenant into a loose embrace. With a cocky grin, he notices that Mairon has also come without as much as a touch to his cock, which is nothing less than he expected. He unties Mairon's bound arms and is gratified when the Maia uses them to wrap around his neck and pull him into a lazy kiss.

'I really needed this,' Mairon says after a long while, sighing in contentment.

'You could have simply told me,' replies Melkor, rolling his eyes. 'Did you really need to cause such a fuss? My face is a mess because of you.'

'No, my body is a mess. Your face is no worse than usual. And it was better this way,' Mairon informs him calmly. 'I prefer it when you are genuinely angry with me. You let go of all restraints and you take it out on me. You have no idea how attractive you are when you are furious, do you?'

'No,' Melkor admits. 'I think you are insane,' he concludes, shaking his head in amusement. 'Also, next time I am definitely going to gag you. You never shut up. You keep being noisy even with a cock in your mouth. I hate this,' he grumbles half-heartedly.

'By which you mean you love this,' Mairon corrects him. He rests his head against Melkor's shoulder. 'My moans make you hard. And next time, you had better catch on earlier when I try to frustrate you. I was so desperate that I was almost ready to start citing battle reports from half a century ago. I had to repeat that bit about weapons three times before you realized what I was doing.'

'Please, be silent. Just for a moment. Let me bask in the afterglow,' growls Melkor, slapping him half-heartedly on the backside. Mairon laughs softly, leaning against the dark Vala's chest.

'I will definitely be silent during tomorrow's feast,' he promises. 'You did me so hard and with hardly any preparation, I will have trouble sitting straight for weeks.'

'Well if you do not shut up, I will do it again and then you will really be unable to sit down,' Melkor warns. He uses one hand to massage Mairon's left butt cheek as though menacingly.

'Mmm, such threats. I feel really scared now,' says Mairon with a grin.

He screams until he goes hoarse when Melkor takes him again on the floor, and then once more against the wall. And he does not really shut up until he falls asleep in his bed against Melkor's muscular chest.

(Next time, he is the one who takes Melkor on the throne. His dirty talk is almost enough to make the dark Vala come untouched. No threats of gags are ever uttered again after that.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I don't know how well it comes across, but Mairon mentioning the new secret weapon during war councils is actually their secret booty call :> Hence the title.


End file.
